Last Words
by rellimmes
Summary: This failed revolution was his only comfort now, his last hope and dream. No amount of wishing, praying, blame and anger would bring her back. It was all he had, and all he could do was bid her a final farewell and wait for his own death. E/È


**This failed revolution was his only comfort now, his last hope and dream. No amount of wishing, praying, blame and anger would bring her back. It was all he had, and all he could do was bid her a final farewell and wait for his own death. E/È**

**Last Words**

Enjolras watched helplessly as she screamed and shoved Marius to the side, grabbing the barrel of the rifle and pulling it to her own breast as it went off. There was a short, loud crack, and then she fell back, eyes wide with fearlessness and determination.

The boy whose life she had saved was too busy threatening to blow the barricade to notice her sacrifice. It was all Enjolras could do not to wring Pontemercy's neck and talk him into setting the case of gunpowder to the side. He handed the torch off to the nearest revolutionary and turned to find the girl, only to see that Marius had gotten to her side first.

It was remarkable that she had the strength to hold on long enough and drag herself away from the fire fight, up against a nearby wall. She was dressed as a man, but it was clear enough, to Enjolras at least, that she was a woman. No amount of ragged trousers, long coats and newsie hats could hide the real Eponine Thénardier.

She wasn't drop dead gorgeous, anyone would tell you that, but she was still beautiful.

Her hair, when maintained, was glossy and fair. Past those dark circles that overshadowed her face shone chocolate brown eyes, filled with wisdom and determination. Her intelligence was plain to see if you heard her speak. Enjolras could still hear her laughter, the good times they'd had together when they were alone in the ABC. She would come in only to find Marius gone away, but instead of leaving she'd stay and listen to him talk. What conversations they had, of revolutions and worldly sorrows, of the future and their aspirations or dreams. She loved deeper than anyone he'd ever known. She wasn't just a _gamine_ on the street; she was human too. Part of Enjolras enjoyed that about her.

But in spite of all these things, she was dying. No amount of love and courage, wisdom and beauty could save her from such a cruel fate. But it was _her_ fate; she had chosen it. No one else could choose it for her, but still Enjolras wished she had not chosen it for _herself_.

He watched, grief washing over him like a tidal wave, as Marius held her, and whispered words of encouragement to her, and tried to lift the burden of death from her shoulders in her final moments. They would do no good, but still she was strong. She insisted she felt no pain, and talked of rain and flowers, but as her breathing shallowed her body racked with pain. Only Enjolras could see it, and it pained him to no end to see her suffer.

Rain poured down over Paris as she died, her body cold and damp. Her head was nestled against Marius's shoulder, but she was not looking up at him, the boy who had retained her love all these months. Her final gaze rested upon Enjolras. A ghost of a smile lit up her face, and for a split second they shared a moment of understanding. Then she fell back into his friend's arms and lay still. Her eyes never saw again.

Enjolras could bear it no longer. He ignored the rain pounding on his back and water dripping down his face and picked up Eponine's body, barely glancing down at her face long enough to close her eyes before handing her off to Grantaire. He couldn't face her; not now. The leader of the barricade turned and stared at Marius. The boy was busy staring down at a scrap piece of paper, too absorbed in what it read to mourn her loss. Enjolras was ready to strangle him. His face was cold, his voice hard and uncompassionate.

"She trusted you," he was barely was to whisper, rage laced in each word. "She loved you enough to sacrifice her life for you, and this is how you repay her? Wait until she's gone to read some mushy note from a girl you've met only once in your life, someone you don't even know?" He spat at the ground. "You disgust me."

"I'm mourning her death just as much as you are Enjolras!" Marius snapped back. He glared up at his friend with loathing. "I actually _cared_ about her. Besides, what do you know? _You_ barely even spoke to her." His words stung, not only because he assumed too much but because he was wrong. No one ever knew the nature of the relationship the two of them had, but it was enough of them both. No, just _one _of them. The other had been hoping for something more, praying for something solid and permanent in his life. But he'd never said anything. Not with Marius around, at least.

"You don't know that," was all he could say as he turned away. "You have no idea what I knew about her. You cannot even fathom the depths of what I felt for her-" He had said too much.

Marius's eyes widened with unmasked shock. "You loved her."

"Of course I loved her!" Enjolras snarled, casting one last hateful look back at the boy. "More than you'll ever know."

He left his comrade where he stood, with his accursed letter, and entered the Café. Grantaire had laid Eponine's body out on the table in the back of the upper room, out of harm's way. Her hate was still in place, but her hair was fallen away, cascading down her shoulders in a way that made her look at peace. It was more than she had ever had in this world, and she looked more asleep than dead. For a moment Enjolras was afraid to speak, fearing that someone might overhear him, but the rain pounded too loudly on the rooftop to hear any thought but his own.

"I'm sorry Eponine," he whispered, gazing down at her sorrowfully. "You did not deserve to die like this, especially not in the hands of someone as clueless as Pontemercy. You needed someone better, I think." He paused, choosing his last words to her carefully. "You once told me love was blind. You were right, it is, for some. But others, they can love people just for who they are. I am that kind of person, I'd like to believe. I may not be perfect, but I could be- just for you."

He took up her hand and pressed it against his lips, letting a single tear fall. "Goodbye Eponine Thénardier. Maybe I'll see you in the afterlife, but if not… know that I loved you." He gently set her hand over her heart, covering the red stain of blood as he did so. As he looked out at the barricade and its men- his men- a sinking sort of feeling along with realization settled inside the pit of his stomach. He'd led them all to their graves, like pigs to slaughter. He looked back at Eponine. She'd been the first to fall. _What I would have done to keep her here, with me…_

This failed revolution was his only comfort now, his last hope and dream. No amount of wishing, praying, blame and anger would bring her back. It was all he had, and all he could do was bid her a final farewell and wait for his own death.

The hours ticked by. Gunshots were fired, blood was spilt, soldiers and revolutionaries alike were lying dead upon the barricade. The army overwhelmed them and forced the remaining men- himself and four others- into the last level of the ABC. Three were shot on sight, one was killed trying to get at the window, and the last one- him- was cornered. Enjolras took a deep breath and glanced over at the table in the back one last time. The wait was over.

The last thing Enjolras remembered as eight bullets pierced his body was her laughter. He was plunged into oblivion, followed by a single, small but firm hand reaching into the darkness the pulling him to her side. And then blessed light.

**Ok, how'd I do? This is my first ever Les Miserables fic, and this is my favorite shipping in the play, book and movies, so please, please be kind! Reviews are welcome too.**

**-rellimmes **


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